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What is said in the unspoken?
In shared glances
In messages deleted
In letters left in the bedside tables and
Notes left in the backs of drawers

Pens with ink that haven't been bled
And pages empty, wishing they could say
The message you think but won't put down
Or say aloud

But I can hear in the spoken pauses
The extra breath between sentences
The stutter in your words

Can you read between the lines
See behind the camera lens
Hear the chord missing from the harmony?
Are these audible pauses
Or am I the fool, listening to silence
As it speaks volumes?
The ring  that you gave
made my finger blue
it was suffocated it was bruised
tried to rip it off most nights
but it didn't come off yeah it never budged
and one day it did and the next i missed it
     the bruise started to heal it went purple then yellow
but there stayed a line an indentation of what we went through  
in the finger with the vein to my heart  
some nights when the world gets to me
i look at it  - the mark that you left
then suddenly I'm craving you
like air underwater
and it makes me want to swim back to you
we both  know i won't survive the tides
yet the love vein's pulling me back to you .
The pears
bend the
crooked branches—
flushed
and drowsy
with sugar.

The juice waits
for something—
for its skin
to be bruised,
for a mouth
to bite in,
and when done
waiting—
suffer the wind
do what must
be done.
air
hands heart lungs fluttering
like untried wings
still wet, a little heavy
quivering like first
or last breath
i do not jump
i do not know which way
the air will flow between my feathers.
moved back home after graduating and am depressed, anxious, and unemployed. haven't written in a while but it's been a day.
© XPY 2025
When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M
Maybe I’m not strong enough,
To carry man’s weight. My back wasn’t made
For empty promises, lack of understanding.

You feel no attraction to me. Yet,
You yearn for me. You tell your father about
Everything I do. You break chains
For me.

Where are Stonewall’s bricks?
Thrown in windows, wooden
Doors.
Doors that mean nothing,
Because my heart is elsewhere.

Maybe God is not strong enough,
To carry man’s weight.
You use his name in vain,
To carry out your warfare on
A peaceful race.
I am new to this website so feel free to follow me or message me or anything!!
There once was a woman from Spain
Who loved to make love in the rain.
     She also had fun
     Making love in the sun,
And always in the public domain.
I have seen grown
men throwing stones
into still rivers
rivers that are
tired of running
they watch small birds
feast on smaller
living things
they breath out a
steady stream of
blue sadness
they sit in cars
reading Kerouac
looking up at
long naked legs
they have outlived
their fathers
idea of youth
they have played
the puzzle of
insolvable love
they are lost in
quiet rooms
they ask her
politely to leave
they wait for the
dust to settle …
Clay.M
Open bars and drunkards
Cold feet and dark streets
Pink puke and white slabs
My love is far from me.

-Melanie Munoz
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